The Art of Moving On
by Starfan1245
Summary: Just like every other year, America throws a big party on his birthday and invites all the nations. Only this year, it's different. This year, England comes. Eventual USUK, other pairings mentioned.


I know, I know, it's already passed Independence day, but I needed to write something and thus this happened! :)

Disclaimer and author's note at the bottom.

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><p>The invitation arrived around the same time it always did each year, clumsily shoved into an envelope. The card itself was hastily decorated, straightforward and getting to the point: "Dude, you are so totally invited to my awesome birthday party on July 4th, if you don't know the date yet! Lookin' forward to seeing you there!"<p>

England scowled and fought the urge to crumple the piece of paper in his hand and chuck it at the wall. He didn't understand why America always sent him an invitation; surely the younger, though usually daft, knew that England didn't fare well around that particular date, or was America really that clueless?

The former British Empire walked into his kitchen to boil the water, hoping a cup of tea would calm his nerve. As he turned the stove on, his phone suddenly beeped. He jumped before growling out something unintelligible, digging in his pocket and pulling out his iPhone, the one America had convinced him to get.

Of course, it was America himself. "So will you come this year? :)". Good God, was the nation telepathic? It was as if he knew the precise moment that England had opened the annual birthday card. Large brows furrowed, England typed a response as he sat down at his table, waiting for the water to boil.

"No, America. I don't fare well around that date, and I would rather not attend a party thrown in celebration of our separation."

America's response was immediate. "Aw come on Iggy :( ya know it's not a party thrown to celebrate my victory, its just the date I chose as my birthday!"

"You don't need a birthday, America. You are a nation."

"Yeah, but everyone needs a birthday! Besides, I couldn't think of any other date. So, will you come?"

England sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to fight off an impending headache. "No, America. I'll send you a present like I do every year, and I will see you at the next world meeting." He then shut off his phone and went back to check on his water.

It wasn't boiling, and he was about to go to his refrigerator to see if he had any leftover scones to snack on while drinking his tea, when his phone rang. Cursing, he shut the refrigerator door and stormed to his house phone, picking it up angrily. "Whether you call or text me America, I will not be coming to your bloody birthday party!"

There was an unmistakable "hon hon hon" on the other end that signaled that it wasn't the younger hero on the other end. "Bonjour to you too, mon ami," France's voice called out, a teasing tone hinted behind his words. "Lover's quarrel with our young America?"

England groaned and rubbed his forehead. "I am not in love with America," he snapped, more to convince himself than the other as his irritation grew slowly. America had annoyed him in the beginning, France was now adding fuel to the fire. "Is there a point to this call, frog?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about Amérique's birthday party," France said, dropping his teasing tone. "I know he has been very... eager for you to attend one of his parties, especially as of recently. He has been very disappointed when you fail to show your face."

England blinked. He knew, from stories told by the other nations, that America had a tendency to outdo himself for that particular party (his Halloween, Christmas, and Easter parties were just as popular but less decorated), and England had always assumed that, whether he showed or not, America wouldn't care and just get on with the festivities. "He... he gets upset?"

"Oui," France sighed on the other end. "I believe, if you were to fail to appear this year, it would upset him greatly."

England swallowed before forcing himself to slip back into his usual crabby, snappy demeanor. "Is that all you called me for, winey?"

"Oui," France said once more. He hesitated before speaking again. "It is none of my business, and I will not force you to do anything, as I know what that day means to you, but the past is in the past, Angleterre. Perhaps it is time to move on and make up with Amérique, oui? Au revoir!" With that being said, France hung up his side of the phone.

England fumed at his own phone for a second before shutting it off and slamming it back into its cradle. "That... that stupid, bloody frog!" he exclaimed. Behind him, the kettle whistled and England took a deep breath before going to prepare his cup of tea.

Scone in one hand, teacup and saucer in the other, England walked into his living room and sat down on the couch, setting his saucer on the coffee table America had given him as a Christmas present one year. He relaxed back into the cushions, sipping slowly at his tea and nibbling on his scone. He thought about what France had said, pondering over America and his birthday parties.

England hadn't attended a single one since America had started sending out invites to the other countries. The day had always brought painful flashbacks and never ending nightmares of America, standing tall and proud in his blue uniform, musket in hand, telling England many different times that he was no longer his little brother. America had always seemed cheerful before and after the date, or what England had gathered based on seeing the nation at meetings around that time. He had assumed his absence was merely shrugged off by the younger every time, probably telling the others that England was just an "old man" and wouldn't be able to keep up with the party anyway.

Now, a new image of America came to his mind, of America answering his door eagerly each time the doorbell rang or there was a knock, his face falling somewhat when he realized the person on the other side wasn't England, but putting on a smile for the sake of his guests; it wasn't good if the host was upset at his own party. He could also see America sitting by himself in his backyard, knees pulled to his chest as he watched the fireworks with longing blue eyes, trying to ignore how alone he felt as the other nations around him cuddled up to loved ones: Italy sitting in Germany's lap, squealing and burrowing further into the broad nation's chest whenever a firework would explode; France whispering naughty things in Canada's ear just to see the timid nation blush in the light from the explosions; Spain attempting to wrap his arm around Romano's shoulder each time a firework would explode and send the older Italian twin into a shivering mess, despite the fact that the Spaniard was shrugged roughly off each time; Denmark laughing and talking casually to Norway; Finland sitting with Sweden's arm wrapped around his shoulder as Sealand sat near them, gasping and pointing out his favorite fireworks to Latvia; Lithuania silently listening to Poland talk about the party; Austria bluntly trying to ignore Prussia's proclamations that his parties were much more awesome that America's.

England frowned as he set his teacup on the saucer. He didn't like this image of America, sitting alone and wondering what it would be like if England were with him, snuggling on the beach much as the other nations did during the famous firework show. Sure, England wasn't on best terms with the idiotic younger nation, but he didn't take joy out of America being upset, especially if he could prevent it. He did enjoy teasing the other nation, and their fights at the world meetings proved to be a comic relief when he was truly bored. America seemed to enjoy the same thing, but if one of them took it too far they would apologize after the meeting and take the other out to dinner or something.

_Perhaps France is right_, England thought to himself and winced; he hated admitting that the French idiot was right. _Maybe it is time for me to move on and make up with America._

He thought to himself for a few minutes, debating on what to do. When his mind was settled, his scone gone, and his teacup empty, he rose and walked out of the room to prepare himself.

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><p>July 4th rolled around the corner as fast as one of America's freaky roller coasters. England's hands trembled as he buttoned up his white shirt and rolling the sleeves to his elbows. He had stayed in a hotel nearby, keeping his whereabouts a secret. He was going to surprise America this year; as far as the latter (and the other nations, for that matter) knew, England was skulking in his home back in the UK, mourning over the loss of a colony that had once made up his great empire.<p>

England sighed as he looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. He had chosen something casual to wear (as he expected thats what America's parties were: casual): a white button up Oxford-style shirt, a pair of loose blue jeans, and a pair of his favorite flip flops. It was not an outfit he typically wore, but if this was what America considered casual, then so be it.

England grabbed his present for America, which was sitting in a gift bag on his bed, before walking out of his door, down the stairs, and onto the street. America's house wasn't a far walk from here; he was currently at one of his homes in Virginia, this particular one located along the Virginia coastline, on Virginia Beach, except farther away from the major hotel spots.

The sun was just starting to sink on the west end, casting beautiful reds and oranges and golds and purples across the sky, which reflected peacefully off the ocean. England sighed, breathing in the air and savoring the peaceful quiet of the land. Virginia truly was a beautiful state, and it didn't help to think that this calmness would soon be shattered with the explosions of fireworks as soon as the sun set below the horizon.

The long dirt path that led to America's house came into view. The house was large (England had stayed there a number of times when the world meetings were held in the area), and it had been tucked far back into the woods with its own private beach access and everything. Most countries (such as romantics like France) loved the home for its views and, when they sat on the beach after sunset, proved to be a good spot to watch the fireworks launched around them.

England took a deep breath once he had reached the front door of the house. Already he could hear nations talking eagerly in the back to one another, and the sound of America's popular music drifting around the general area. Squaring his shoulders, England gripped the handle of his present in one hand and rang the doorbell with the free one.

There was a moment of silence, and then footsteps as someone approached the door. England's breath quickened, and he struggled to control his racing heartbeat. He had planned what he would say to his former colony, something along the lines of how they had both grown and matured and the past was in the past, and they could move on and get closer.

"Bonjour, Angleterre!"

England choked and almost dropped his present in shock. At the door, France stood with a smug smirk on his face. His long blonde hair had been lazily pulled back into a ponytail, and he wore style jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and an in-season sweater over it, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Behind him, the few countries that remained inside, peered around the blonde to see if they had heard correctly.

England struggled to compose himself; it was ungentlemanly to lose control. "F-Frog! What... Why are you answering the door? Where's America?"

France laughed and pulled England inside, shutting the door behind him. "America's outside with Canada," he replied, taking the gift and placing it on the small pile in the little room next to the front door, where small gifts had piled on the little table in the room. "I think they're down by the water with Mexico and Bahamas."

England looked around. The back door of America's house was a sliding glass door, and it was a straight shot from the front door, through the small strip of area that separated America's kitchen from his family room. There were few nations inside; most were outside playing games on the small lawn or on the beach. A couple had even stripped to swimsuits and were in the ocean. Clearing his throat, England walked away from France towards the back doors.

Lithuania, who was preparing another dish of some sort, offered England a big smile. "I'm glad you decided to come!" he told the brit earnestly. "We've missed you when you don't come to this party."

"Like, now America can stop whining about how you never come," Poland chimed in, his flour covered arm wrapped around Lithuania's shoulders. "He's always complaining about you, like, and how you never come to this one."

England felt a blush creep up his cheeks and passed France, Hong Kong, India, and Jamaica in his haste to get outside. He slid the door open and gingerly stepped onto the patio, afraid he would be assaulted by nations cheering and pushing him around, demanding why he hadn't come sooner or why he had even decided to come at all.

Surprisingly, no one tackled him or surrounded him as he closed the door. He was offered a smile and wave from a couple select nations as he walked slowly into the yard, trying to avoid being hit in the head with the American football as it flew from nation to nation as they played a small version of the popular sport. England focused on finding America. He wanted to talk to him and assure him that he had moved on.

Had he moved on, though? England looked around, seeming to remember for the first time that the significance of this date was when the Declaration of Independence was signed by the founding fathers, claiming the United States of Great Britain. England winced as a flash of America standing in a blue uniform crossed his mind, America standing tall and proud as he declared himself separated from England.

Speaking of the little devil, England looked up and finally spotted America. He was wearing light blue jeans with holes on his knees and a brown t-shirt with the sleeves at his elbows. He was just in range for England to hear him as he struck up a conversation with Mexico. The other one France had mentioned (Ca- Candid? Canadia? England couldn't remember his name) was nowhere in sight. England listened as America talked in fluent spanish, which made sense as a lot of his citizens spoke spanish either as a first or second language, and was about to walk up to him when he heard a small noise.

"England? Is that really you? I can't believe you're here!"

England turned and saw the American look alike, and it was enough to remember who he was: Canada, America's younger twin brother. "Ah, hello Canada," he greeted formally and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, I was invited once more and figured enough hiding for now, so I decided to come."

Canada gave England a gentle smile and squeezed the small polar bear in his arms a little tighter. "America must be so happy! He's been a little upset these past few years when you don't come..."

The polar bear squirmed in Canada's grasp and looked up at his owner. "Tight," he complained.

England ignored the talking bear and looked at the northern North America nation. "Yes, I heard about that. It may have had an influence on whether or not I came this year, actually."

Canada frowned. "Someone should have told you sooner," he said in a straight voice. England wasn't sure if it was a joke or if Canada was actually being serious, so he rubbed the back of his head, smiling nervously and nodding in agreement.

France came up and wrapped his arm around Canada's shoulder, looking first at him and then at England. "I believe dinner is about to be served; everything's been grilled and is ready to be eaten." He gave them both a gentle smile.

The polar bear tapped Canada's arm. "Hungry."

"I know, Kumajirou," Canada replied and looked back up at England. "I'll see you around, eh?" he said before being led away by his insistent French boyfriend.

England nodded numbly and turned back to his original task: talk to America. However, when he turned back to where the hero had previously been spotted, America was nowhere in sight. Mexico himself had joined Guatemala, Costa Rica, and Panama in the ocean, where they were shoving each other under the waves that crashed down above them.

England's face fell and he turned around quickly, struggling to spot America. His view was blocked by all the nations who had lined up to grab what they wanted to eat for dinner. Drat, England thought to himself as he walked toward the crowd. _I'll have to find him over dinner. Then we can sit and talk_.

It took a while for the line to go down enough for England to get up and get his food. He wasn't surprised at what it was: grilled hot dogs, hamburgers, and brats, enough to feed an army, with sides such as potato chips, watermelon slices, salads, fruits... You name it, it was there. There were also a couple other dishes from many different countries: Spain had brought a pot of gazpacho, India had brought masala dosas, Jamaica had brought jerk chicken, Italy had brought pasta bolognese, so on and so forth.

England helped himself to a hamburger (why not), putting a few small chips on the side and some strawberries and cucumbers. Turning, he glanced around the yard and tried to spot America. The nations were in small groups, such as the nordics, talking to one another while enjoying the meal. Some others, such as Seychelles, Hungary, Belgium, and Ukraine, were still flipping through magazines while they ate, occasionally leaning over and showing Poland a picture while he ate with Lithuania and Estonia.

England was at a loss. How did America manage to disappear so easily at his own party? He usually demanded to be the center of attention at world meetings, so how was he able to back into the crowd and fade away at a party celebrating him as a nation?

"England-san!" a voice called, and England turned to see Japan waving from where he sat with Greece, Germany, Italy, and three cats (which kept both Italy, Greece, and Hana Tamago occupied). England sighed but walked over and took a seat in the grass next to his friend.

"Hello Japan," he greeted, setting his paper plate down in front of him.

Italy looked up for a second upon hearing the voice and screamed. "Waah! It's England! Germany, do something!"

A few spots behind them, Romano winced and climbed into Spain's lap, punching the other in the shoulder when he cooed out something along the lines of "precious tomato~".

Germany's eyebrow twitched. "Just go back to feeding your cat, Italy," he told the smaller nation. "No one will be fighting anyone here; England will be on his best behavior, I'll make sure of it."

England blinked and turned back to Japan. "Have you seen America?" he asked bluntly, ignoring Italy's whimpers as he frantically pet the golden kitten sitting in his lap. "I've been trying to talk to him all night, but I keep losing sight of him!"

Japan shrugged. "I talked to him once at the beginning of the party," he explained. "America likes to make it his goal to walk around and talk to every nation that attends, as kind of a thank you of sorts for coming to celebrate with him." Upon England's dejected look, Japan sighed. "The past few years, America-san sits by the front window and just... looks out."

England rose just as quickly as he had sat down. "Thank you for letting me sit with you," he told the nation earnestly. "I just really need to talk to America right now, and... I should probably leave before Italy has a meltdown."

The younger Italian twin let out a small cry at the mention of his name from the brit's mouth. England rolled his eyes and darted away. He threw open the glass door and then shut it gently before walking to the front of the house and looking in both rooms on his left and right to find... no America. The man had either A: already been there, or B: never stopped by at all. Either way, England had missed him once more.

England started feeling a little upset. Not just because he knew the flashbacks would start to come, but because he had been so intent on talking to America, to maybe start the process of setting things right between them, and so far he had spotted America once at a distance and hadn't seen him anymore. It was getting frustrating and a little un-encouraging.

"Looking for America?" England whirled around to see Russia standing behind him, grinning. Despite the heat, the northern nation still wore his usual scarf and long sleeved coat. "You just missed him. He talked with me in the kitchen for a few minutes and went back outside to beat France up for touching his brother."

England tried not to shudder at how easily Russia, for such a large guy, had snuck up on him. He instead nodded his thanks and slowly slunk around him, walking back outside into the summer air. Most of the nations were up again, setting blankets on the beach and talking about this year's fireworks. America sometimes set them off himself, but this year they would simply sit and watch the fireworks from surrounding houses and the show that went on near the hustle-bustle of hotels along the coast.

Fireworks. That meant it was getting darker out and the memories would start coming stronger. England rubbed his eyes tiredly. His chances of finding America and having a civil conversation with him were getting slimmer and slimmer. He needed to find America now, before he was consumed and overwhelmed by bad memories.

That's right, hadn't Russia said that America had gone after France and Canada? England trotted up to where the grass of America's backyard met the sand of the beach and looked around. There were a lot of nations to spot America on his own, but if America was still with France and Canada... Indeed, England found France's ponytail waving in the breeze as he sat, side pressed against Canada, looking out over the ocean.

England weaved his way through the couples and groups and stopped by France and Canada, kneeling in the sand next to the latter. "H-have you guys seen America? Russia said he was coming out to beat the frog up."

France glowered. "Stupid cock blocker," he grumbled and shook his head when Canada gently nudged his ribs with his elbow. France turned back to England. "Sorry, mon ami, you just missed him. He was distracted by Lithuania and I lost sight of him after that."

England stood up again and raked his fingers through his blonde hair. This was such a dumb game of cat-and-mouse he was playing with America. It wasn't fair! His first Independence Day party, and all he was asking for was one conversation with America. One conversation, to prove to the other that he could change and put the past behind him! He walked to the side of the group and turned, trying to find Lithuania as the countries all spread themselves out along the beach.

A sudden flash interrupted his train of thought, and England pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He could see rain falling around him, America's musket pointed at his chest with General Washington behind him, troops at the ready.

_"I'm no longer a child, nor your little brother. From now on, consider me independent!"_

Already, England could feel his throat closing against his will, tears rushing to his eyes. No, no, the memories couldn't start this soon! He hadn't found America and he hadn't talked to him yet about putting the past behind them! Maybe it would stop the memories, agreeing to move on...

_Gun struck gun. America's musket flew through the air and clattered to the muddy earth. "I won't allow it. You idiot! Why can't you follow anything through to the end?"_

"The fireworks are about to start!" Denmark called loudly, grinning and wrapping his arm around Norway's shoulder and pulling him closer.

The nations settled themselves down, preparing for the show and murmuring silently amongst themselves. As if on cue, the first firework torpedoed into the air and exploded in a loud BOOM that seemed to rattle the earth around them. England fell to his knees, pressing his hands against his eyes.

_"Ready! Aim!" America's troops prepared behind him, guns loaded, men preparing themselves to protect their nation who stood bravely before them, England's gun pointed at the center of his chest._

More fireworks. A tear slipped past England's barriers and rolled slowly down his cheeks as the countries "ooh"ed and "ahh"ed around him.

_"There's no way I can shoot you. I can't!" Another gun clattered to the earth._

England choked on a sob. He pulled his knees up to his chest as the fireworks really started, not only by the hotels but all along the coast, families lighting their own fireworks in celebration of their independence. America was still nowhere in sight.

England gave up. He would never find America at this point, with all the fireworks and excitement from the nations. It would be late and dark by the time the shows were over, and even then some nations stayed late into the night to watch more fireworks from the houses near America's. He buried his face in his knees and succumbed to the memories.

_England sobbed. "Why? Dammit, why?! It's not fair!"_

_"You know why." America is quiet, strong._

_A memory comes to him as he sits in the mud, of America when he was a toddler, England reaching out for him, "Lets go home." Toddler America, smiling and laughing, takes his hand._

_"What happened?" America asked, looking down upon the nation he had once looked up to. "I remember when you were great..."_

"So you really did come," someone standing above him mused. "I thought my eyes were tricking me, but it seems they were right."

_You used to be... so big..._

England blinked back his tears and looked up. America smiled down at him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. England sniffled, not breaking eye contact with the other. "A-America..."

America frowned, hands coming out of his pockets. "Hey," he mumbled, crouching to sit down next to England in the sand. "C'mon now, there's no crying at the hero's birthday party."

England wanted to laugh it off too, to show America he really was putting the events of the war behind him, but you can never truly escape that which scars your soul for eternity. More tears filled his eyes as he looked at the younger nation, seeing how much he had grown and changed since appearing to England as a small colony back when Spain had come back talking about the wonderful new world and the others had struggled to start colonies on the land. His eyes filled with fresh tears once more and all he managed to get out was a wet sob before burying his face back into his knees.

"England?" America sounded worried. A gentle hand was placed on his upper back, and England wanted to laugh at the irony of it all; the last time America had seen him like this, he had walked away. "It's okay, England."

_From now on, consider me independent!_

When America's arms slowly wrapped him in a hug, England wasted no time gripping the front of America's soft brown shirt tightly in his hands and burying his face into America's chest. Sob after sob tore its way from his throat, muffled only by the loud explosions of fireworks around them. England continued to cry, listening to America's heartbeat next to his cheek, feeling America's arms rub a soothing motion up and down his back, feeling America hesitated before pressing his lips gently into England's golden locks.

England sobbed for what felt like hours, and America remained with him the whole time, never loosening his grip, only tightening the hug when he thought was necessary. When England's sobs had died down to sniffles and the occasional tear rushing down his cheek, America opened his mouth. "You didn't have to come," he sounded guilty for some reason. "I didn't... I don't mean to try and shove this day in your face. I knew the memories were bad." He paused and took in a shuddering breath, and England clung on tighter, afraid America would break down. "They used to be bad for me, too. After World War I, I tried to put it behind me. I wanted to move on. Not so much forget about what happened, but just... put it in the past, I guess. Make up. I knew you held onto it, though. I just wanted to be your friend..."

England squeezed his eyes shut. He took in a calming breath before pulling his head away and looking up at America. "That's why I came tonight," he admitted slowly, choosing his words carefully, "not to forget, but to move on. I... I want to be your friend, and I've been putting the bad memories between us for long enough."

America looked at him with a soft smile and warm eyes that struck England deep to the core. This boy- no, this man meant a lot to him, more than he would ever admit to anyone, and it made coming to this party, on this date, to make up with the nation all worth it.

It seemed America was struggling with something else, however. England frowned, heart quickening again. "Is something else w-wrong?" he asked, trying to pretend that he wasn't stuttering and nervous again.

America looked away, and in the flash of another firework, England could see that he was blushing. "I... I don't want to take this too far, but..." he trailed off and turned back to England, slowly leaning closer, closer, until their noses touched and England could feel the other's breath on his lips. "I..." and America kissed him. It was short, just a quick pressure to England's lips and then he was gone.

England blinked, trying to comprehend what had happened. America turned even deeper red and bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "don't leave. I'm glad you came. I miss you." His arms involuntarily tightened around England's waist and pulled him closer. "At least stay and watch the fireworks with m-"

He was cut off this time when England pressed his lips back against America's, wrapping his arms around the other's broad shoulders and slowly moving to cautiously straddle his waist. America pulled him closer, lips moving together in perfect unison as the firework show continued in the sky above them.

England finally pulled back, sliding off of America and pressing up against his side, resting his head on America's shoulder as the latter's arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. "This is fine," England cleared his throat and chanced a look up at America, smiling. "This is a good make up."

America shot him a hollywood grin. "Good," he replied and pressed his lips to the other's forehead. "Let's take it slow, though. I want to savor every moment of you."

And so they did, relaxing into each other as they started with watching the fireworks light up the night sky above them on the Fourth of July.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thank you for bearing with me! Whew, I'm not even sure where this came from! I was just in a writing mood tonight, and I've recently been interested in world history and what better way to study on your own and watch Hetalia? (I'm sure there are much more efficient ways but this is entertaining)

Onto the disclaimer!

**Disclaimer:** All Hetalia characters and canon plot lines belong to the great Hidekazu Himaruya. The lines from the Hetalia version of the American Revolution are taken from the english dub of the clip, aside from the last line "You used to be... so big...". The dialogue was used in the episode itself and I wrote the scenes based on how it went.

If you feel like it, drop a review or a story favorite! I accept criticism, but please be gentle (no flames), this is my first time writing for the series and I'm a little nervous.

Also, I am not sure if the few dishes I mentioned earlier are from those specific countries, I looked up some different food ideas from different countries (some people here bring small appetizer dishes to parties when they know the parties will be big) and the result were those listed. I'm also sorry if America and England's relationship seemed to move along really quickly in this fic, but I followed along the lines from the anime that the two are already kind of friends (aside from their pointless disagreements at times) and wanted it to seem that England agreeing to move on from his annoyance towards the Fourth of July as a kind of introduction to a budding relationship.

Again, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :)


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